


The Lateness of the Hour

by Abby_S



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkwardness, Chance Meetings, Falling In Love, Kissing in the Rain, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Meg and Castiel are BFFs, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_S/pseuds/Abby_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even as a child, Castiel didn’t sleep well. He would toss and turn until the very first light of dawn, when he would finally find a tenuous, restless sleep. His mother often despaired of him, blaming her deadbeat husband for everything that was unusual about her son.</p><p>“He passed on all the bad genes,” she’d told him once, tucking him into bed and ignoring his mumbled protests. “You, my son, will be like him. An outcast poet. Too caught up in your own tortured soul to realize that life is going on around you.”</p><p>It was said without bitterness, simply a calm kind of resignation.</p><p>Naomi had passed away two years later. His father hadn’t shown up to the funeral, and Castiel had never become much of a poet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lateness of the Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Recreational cannabis use. Vague mentions of Castiel/Others and a past Meg/Castiel kiss. Dean's self-esteem issues. Dean and Cas being awkward dorks. General weirdness all around. A confused fish.
> 
> Side relationships: Meg/Benny and Anna/Ruby
> 
> Beta'd by Beanmom. Thank you so much!
> 
> EDIT 09/28: [translated into Russian](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2393423) by eiter <3

Castiel had always liked nighttime.

He supposed it was a result of his unusual sleep patterns; when you didn’t need more than three or four hours a night, you were left with a lot of time on your hands.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault, really. Even as a child, Castiel didn’t sleep well. He would toss and turn until the very first light of dawn, when he would finally find a tenuous, restless sleep. His mother often despaired of him, blaming her deadbeat husband for everything that was unusual about her son.

“He passed on all the bad genes,” she’d told him once, tucking him into bed and ignoring his mumbled protests. “You, my son, will be like him. An outcast poet. Too caught up in your own tortured soul to realize that life is going on around you.”

It was said without bitterness, simply a calm kind of resignation.

Naomi had passed away two years later. His father hadn’t shown up to the funeral, and Castiel had never become much of a poet.

Castiel had never become much of anything, really. He’d always been... average. Average grades, average looks, though maybe those had strayed on the good side. Average IQ. Average size. Average wages. The average citizen.

 _Average_. He’d always hated that word.

Some nights, when his books couldn’t keep his attention, he walked. He slipped his overcoat on and padded out of his average apartment complex, staying silent without really knowing why. (It wasn’t like he knew any of his neighbors. The tall, gangly man living across the hall always greeted him politely when they crossed paths, but he’d never tried to get to know Castiel. That suited him just fine, really.)

Castiel wasn’t _lonely_ , despite what his sister Anna thought. He had his job – and so what if accounting wasn’t thrilling? Someone had to do it. He had Meg, his friend, and Grace, his goldfish.

He wasn’t unhappy. That was all that mattered in the end.

This night, though, was one of the nights that made Castiel hate his wakefulness. It was late August, and nothing seemed to deter the stifling heat – not the window he’d opened earlier, nor the fan that just shuffled hot air around with an annoying buzz.

Castiel sighed and slammed his book down on the Ikea coffee table. (It was black, cubic and generally an aesthetic nightmare.)  His movements brittle, he took off his glasses and glanced around, wiping his sweaty palms on his sweaty t-shirt. In a corner, Grace’s aquarium was glowing softly, projecting its blue glimmer on the walls. She was swimming idly in her bubble of water, unconcerned.

“Lucky you,” Castiel told her.

She didn’t answer.

It was four in the morning, and Castiel was _bored_.

He toyed for a second with the idea of a shower. He was pretty sure he stank of sweat and restlessness. He decided against it; the reprieve offered by the cold water wasn’t worth the feeling of Satan’s breath flaring on his skin again when he’d step out.

“Ugh,” he said quietly, to no one in particular. He stood up, slipped into his shoes, grabbed his keys, and left the apartment.

Castiel liked to be outside at night; everything then was subtly different than during the day. There was a stillness, a meaning to every sound and every movement, that got lost along with the first rays of sunshine. Somewhere, a man was singing a bawdy drunken song. Two cats were fighting on a nearby rooftop, and Castiel stood still for a minute and listened to their high-pitched screeches of rage. Then he started walking, sighing with relief when a cool breeze started drying the thin layer of sweat that coated his skin.

The park was empty when he got there, but Castiel knew that would soon change. In half an hour, tops, the first joggers, dog-owners, and early risers would trickle by. Some would be disgruntled and bleary eyed, some disgustingly cheery for such an early hour. He sat heavily on his usual bench, from which he could survey the whole park. Closing his eyes, he listened to the distant buzz of the city.

This was his life, and as dull and unsurprising as it was, he quite liked it.

Then his nose picked up the faint scent of cigarette smoke floating in the air. Castiel let his eyes fall open, looking around distastefully in the hope of finding the origin of the offending smell.

That was when he saw him for the first time. A man, that was for sure, though Castiel couldn’t tell much more. He was sitting on a nearby bench, a consumed cigarette dangling from his fingers. Head bent, back slumped, he was almost unnaturally still. In the pale light of predawn, Castiel couldn’t even tell whether the man was breathing. His blood ran cold, and he was up and walking before he could think about it. 

At first, he stayed still, hovering in front of the man. Squinting to see if there was a movement, a sign of life.

“Excuse me,” he said. Then, as he hadn’t drawn any reaction out of the man, he repeated it louder.

Still nothing. Castiel sighed long-sufferingly.

Bracing himself, he stepped forward, landing a cautious hand on the man’s shoulder.

The man didn’t move. Castiel didn’t either.

 _I’m touching a corpse_ , he thought in a detached kind of way, like it was happening to another person, in another universe, and he was just an accidental onlooker. _I’m touching a corpse,_ he thought. _They’ll find my DNA and arrest me for murder._

He wondered if Anna would take care of Grace. She was a fish; she didn’t need to suffer the consequences of Castiel’s mistakes.

Then, the man’s head shot up and Castiel stumbled back with an undignified yelp. He almost fell on his ass trying to put some distance between the blurry, confused green eyes and himself.

“What the…” the not-corpse said gruffly, staring at Castiel like he was a disturbing insect. Then he blinked and looked around, confusion etched on his face. It was a nice face, if one were prone to notice such things, with a sharp jaw and a plump mouth.

“Did I…did I fucking _fall asleep_?” the man asked. It didn’t seem like he was talking to Castiel.

“I thought you were dead,” Castiel blurted out. Then, he cringed. Even he knew that was probably not the best thing to say, and Meg always said that he had the social abilities of a scallop. Whatever that meant. Meg had always had a soft spot for odd metaphors and stupid nicknames.

The man frowned and rubbed a hand across his face, wiping the sleep away. Castiel found it strangely endearing, and proceeded to shove that thought to the back of his mind.

“I’m not,” the man said. The butt of the cigarette had fallen on the ground, and Castiel looked at it quizzically. The man followed his gaze.

“Don’t tell Sam,” he said, before making a face. “Of course you won’t. You don’t know him. What time is it?”

Giving up on trying to follow the man’s train of thought, Castiel glanced at his watch.

“Five in the morning.”

The man groaned and mumbled something that sounded a lot like _I can’t believe it_. Castiel chose not to answer.

Then, the man jumped to his feet, took his bag, threw a _thanks_ over his shoulder and walked away swiftly. Castiel stared at his retreating back. The whole conversation had left a surreal aftertaste. He decided not to dwell on it.

For some reason, though, he was unsettled for the rest of the day.

*~*~*~*

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing something?” Castiel asked. It was two days after his encounter with the strange man in the park, and for reasons he failed to comprehend he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Meg raised an eyebrow at him over her abomination of a sandwich. (Today, it was mustard, ham and peanut butter, and the mere smell of it was enough to make Castiel’s eyes water.)

“Well,” she said, “Yeah. Money. Fame. French cheese.”

Castiel wrinkled his nose and didn’t comment. Meg returned to her sandwich, humming in appreciation around every bite, and he returned to his much more conventional burger.

“Are you alright, Clarence? You look weird.” She licked her lips and smirked. “Well. Weirder than usual.”

Castiel had long since given up on trying to make Meg use his real name. The nickname was a remnant of their first encounter, during their college years. Meg had thrown a party and Anna had dragged Castiel along in one of her desperate attempts at making him _socialize_. Castiel’s socialization had taken the form of a very drunk Meg who’d sat on his lap, whispered that he looked like an angel, and kissed him thoroughly before falling asleep on his shoulder.

She’d snored, and Castiel hadn’t dared to move for fear of waking her.

They’d never left each other’s side from then on.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I just…” he shrugged. “It’s nothing. Eat your awful sandwich. We’re gonna be late to Anna’s.”

Meg threw him a suspicious look, but thankfully chose not to persist.

 *~*~*~*

The heatwave didn’t show signs of ending. Castiel, watching his ceiling at 4 a.m., surrounded with the unnerving stillness of his apartment, thought that it must be what Hell felt like. He had stripped to his underwear, but it didn’t seem to be enough, and his sleep-deprived brain made him wish he could take off his skin, too, maybe turn off a few organs, anything to stop feeling like he was trying to sleep in a pressure cooker.

The fish tank was buzzing, and Castiel thought _screw it_.

There was no breeze this time, not even a smidgen of wind, and Castiel’s t-shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin. There were no sounds, either. Even the cats had deemed it too hot to come out.

It was earlier than the last time he had been here, and the park was blissfully silent. The swings creaked softly as he passed by. Had the weather been stormier, it would have been the perfect setting for a horror flick. As it was, it was eerily calm, and Castiel wouldn’t complain.

He’d been sitting on his bench for a few minutes – or maybe it was a few hours, Castiel couldn’t tell – when a tall shape blocked out the light of the streetlamp. Castiel looked up quickly, clenching his hands into fists.

“Hi,” the man said.

Castiel blinked a few times, trying to figure out whether or not he was dreaming. He _had_ dreamt about this strange man once. It had been a mortifying experience.

This time, though, everything seemed quite real.

“Hello,” Castiel answered cautiously, and the man’s frown disappeared. He looked relieved. Maybe he’d expected Castiel not to recognize him, but Castiel wasn’t one to forget a face, much less _this_ face.

“So,” the man said. He stopped then, seemingly looking for words. He breathed a soft, dismayed sound. “I just –I saw you. And since there’s only us two in the park, it would’ve been kind of an asshole move to pretend you weren’t here.” He shrugged and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Sweat was coating his forehead, and he looked as comfortable in the stifling air as Castiel felt.

“Would you like to sit down?” Castiel asked. He felt silly for it, but the man eyed him for a second and nodded, flopping down on the other side of the bench.

“I’m Dean,” he announced, staring straight ahead.

“Castiel,” Castiel answered. He was expecting something – a raised eyebrow, a questioning look, maybe a snarky comment. Dean just glanced at him, assessing, before smiling brightly.

“Glad to meet you, Castiel,” he said.

Castiel smiled back weakly, trying to ignore the way Dean’s gaze made his heart flutter in appreciation.

*~*~*~*

“I think I met someone,” Castiel said. His statement was met with a baffled silence as everybody turned to stare at him. He found it more than a little vexing.

“What?” he asked defensively. “I go out, you know.”

More silence. Then, Ruby rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, breaking the spell.

“Well,” Anna said, picking her words carefully. “Yeah, of course you do. But you go out with _us_.”

“And anyway, what do you mean you _think_ you met someone?” Ruby piped in. Castiel glared at her. It was more out of habit than anything else. There had been a time when he had nursed an intense dislike for Meg’s best friend, but when his sister had decided to go and fall for said best friend he had reluctantly decided to play nice.

“Well,” he said slowly. “I _met_ someone. But I don’t know if I _met_ metsomeone.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. Again. “Very eloquent.”

Anna elbowed Ruby in the ribs. It wasn’t subtle, but it had the merit of working. Ruby glared but pressed her lips together with a nod, chastened.

“Okay,” Anna said eagerly. “We’re listening.”

Castiel fiddled with his fork. He had the feeling he was going to regret his bout of honesty.

“His name is Dean.”

“Oooh,” Meg cooed. “It’s a _he_. It’s been a while.”

She was right. Castiel had had several relationships in his life, though none serious; save for one ill-advised fling with a journalist named Balthazar, they had all been with women. He shrugged and pushed back his empty plate. The diner was almost empty at this time of the evening. Ellen, the owner, had started cleaning the tables.

“How did you meet?” Ruby asked, trying but failing to look as uninterested as possible.

Here came the tricky part.

“At the park,” Castiel answered evasively. It wasn’t a lie, not really. They just didn’t have to know the details of their encounter. Castiel was certain Ruby and Meg would never let him live it down if he told them.

They seemed to pick up on his reluctance and Anna swiftly turned to Meg, asking about her latest boyfriend, a man named Benny that seemed to be on his way to lasting longer than the others. Castiel leaned back in his chair and smiled. Annoying as they were, these people were his friends and he was glad to have them in his life.

*~*~*~*

“A _Honda_? Tell me you’re joking,” Dean guffawed. Castiel squinted at the streetlamp to hide his amusement. The heat had decreased in the past weeks, but Castiel and Dean hadn’t broken their implicit arrangement, meeting at the same bench every Thursday at four in the morning. This had been going on for a whole month now, and Castiel didn’t know what to think. In a way, he didn’t know anything about Dean –  didn’t know his last name, where he lived, or anything about his family, except for the fact that he lived alone and had a brother.

“There is nothing wrong with a Honda, Dean,” Castiel said absently, and listened with a smile as Dean proceeded to tell him everything that _was_ wrong with owning a Honda. It was just so easy to rile him up.

In other ways, he felt like he’d known Dean all his life. He liked to learn little facts, things that could have seemed unimportant but were often those that mattered the most. Dean was such a singular person, and Castiel felt like he wanted to learn every recess of his mind.

Some nights Dean talked, asking questions about Castiel and answering Castiel’s questions easily. He was incredibly smart, though he didn’t seem to know it, and Castiel liked to get him talking. In this way Castiel had learned that Dean came from Lawrence, Kansas, where he’d lived the majority of his life before moving to be closer to his brother’s family. Though it had been left unsaid, Castiel felt like Dean was having a hard time adapting to his new life – he recognized the signs of loneliness in the other man. Dean was someone revolted, and his spirit was strong, something Castiel both envied and pitied.

The following Thursday night, though, wasn’t one of the talkative times. Dean was quiet and thoughtful, features drawn in sharp relief under the weak lighting. Castiel didn’t talk; he just sat down and looked around. The night air was cooler, more bearable. Castiel knew he didn’t have to go out anymore, for his apartment had returned to a normal temperature.  However, he wasn’t oblivious enough to miss the fact that things were different nowadays. He had something – _someone_ – to look forward to.

After a while of sitting in silence, Dean heaved a sigh and jumped up. For a second, Castiel was irrationally worried that he’d walk away, that he’d leave Castiel’s life the same way he’d entered it, suddenly and without explanation. But Dean simply fished in his pocket for a small leather box and sat down again.

“Do…do you mind if I smoke?”

He clearly wasn’t talking about cigarettes. Castiel bowed his head and smiled.

“Of course not.”

Dean did a quick job of rolling his joint, and Castiel observed his nimble fingers with no small amount of curiosity. The gestures spoke of habit, and Castiel wondered at the way Dean always managed to surprise him. He was still watching when Dean lit the joint, eyes closed in bliss and a small smile tugging at his lips. Inhaling deeply, Castiel found long-forgotten memories in the strange scent, acrid and sweet.

Dean took two deep drags, spilling clouds of thick, white smoke that drifted slowly in the air and twirled over their heads with the wind. The weather this week had been stormy, changeable. It was inexplicably fitting to their mood.

“Cas, want some?”  Dean asked in a raspy voice, handing him the joint. Castiel didn’t hesitate long before taking it. He hadn’t smoked since his college years, when Meg and he would get high together and talk at length of all the things that needed changing in the world. His first drag was cautious, and he grimaced at the burnt aftertaste and the choking sensation of the smoke filling his lungs. He took another hit and surprised himself by not coughing. Even Dean looked reluctantly impressed when Castiel gave him back the joint, and he couldn’t help his smug smile.

Dean started laughing. It was a vivid, uncontrollable sound, at odds with the glum demeanor he had displayed earlier. Castiel felt dizzy with it, and he joined in with a pleasure he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe was it a side-effect of the cannabis. Maybe it was simply _Dean_ , genuine and brash and more sincere than anyone else Castiel knew.

“What’s so funny?” he asked eventually, when Dean’s giggles had calmed and left him wheezing. Dean threw his head back and exhaled noisily, looking perfectly sated.

“You’re a weird guy, Cas.”

Castiel couldn’t argue with that.

They shared the rest of the joint quietly, eyes turned toward the sky. Even if the city lights hadn’t been here to hide them, the heavy clouds would have masked the stars, and Castiel felt oddly melancholic at the thought.

“Cas,” Dean said quietly. For some reason, the mere sound of his voice made Castiel’s heart beat faster, louder. He was so fascinated by the phenomenon that he almost forgot to answer.

“Mh?”

“Why are you my friend?”

Cas frowned and turned his head – which was heavier than he was used to – to look at him. Dean’s jaw was clenched as he stared fixedly at his hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Castiel asked eventually, puzzled. Dean gave a weird half-shrug and snorted.

“Well, I’m kind of a loser, aren’t I? I’m thirty-four, and look at my life. I got a lousy job, a lousy apartment. Hell, I’m pretty sure my _little brother_ feels sorry for me, and he’s the biggest nerd in the universe.”

Castiel mused on that for a minute, observing Dean’s profile. Dean was a very handsome man. He’d known that, of course, but now it hit him with more clarity, however inappropriate the thought might be.

“I don’t think you’re a loser. I think you’re a good person. A good friend.” He shrugged, uncomfortable with how easily the words stumbled out of his mouth. “And even if you were a loser, well. I’m something of a loser, too.”

There was something fluttering in his chest, words floating around in his mind, desperate to be said. “I think it is immensely sad that you don’t see your own worth.” Dean snorted and shook his head, looking ready to interrupt. Castiel smiled. “You’re a good person, Dean, and I’m proud to be your friend.”

Dean was staring at him, mouth slightly open. With his face half-hidden in the shadow, the bright glow of his eyes, he looked like something more than human. Something carved in stone by a deity.

Castiel shook his head and wished those strange thoughts away.

They didn’t talk much after that.

*~*~*~*

“So, how’s it going with Tall, Dark, and Handsome?” Meg asked, sipping her coffee with a blissful expression.

Castiel sighed and shifted in his seat. “It is…going.”

Meg raised an eyebrow and waited. She knew him too well, Castiel reflected. It was starting to get embarrassing. He deflated, staring through the window of the coffee shop. The day had been heavy and gray, the sky laden with menacing clouds. It would rain this night, and Castiel had no idea whether Dean would come.

“I don’t know, Meg,” he admitted. His coffee was cold and untouched. He felt strangely empty. “You know I’m not good at this.”

Meg smiled. It held no mockery, just a fond sort of exasperation.

“Clarence, are you in love?”

Castiel looked up at her, surprised. “I –” Was he? Castiel thought of the man he had met that night. Thought of his strength and his flaws, of the lost look in his eyes when Castiel had told him what he saw in him. The force that drove him. The hidden vulnerability. “Yes,” he breathed. “I am.”

Meg didn’t look surprised. She simply nodded.

“Well, why don’t you just…tell him, champ? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

Castiel wisely chose not to dwell on the question.

 *~*~*~*

As Castiel had predicted, it rained that night. It started around midnight, raindrops hitting the skylight violently, until all he could hear was the steady thrumming of the rain hitting the glass. It drowned out his thoughts, turning them into white noise.

He left his apartment at quarter to four. Hands in his pockets and head bent, he let the rain wash over him.

 _If Dean is there, I will tell him_. It was like a mantra, like a lifeline, and Castiel wished it would give him some courage. By the time he reached the park, he was half-hoping that Dean had seen the downpour and decided to stay home.

No such luck.

Dean was sitting on their usual bench, and Castiel observed with a pang of amusement that he hadn’t bothered with an umbrella, either. It was a strange picture, this man sitting alone in the night, hands folded and gaze blurry. Castiel had stilled, taking in the scene eagerly. He felt almost guilty, as if he had stumbled upon something he should not have seen. A secret.

But then Dean seemed to snap out of his thoughts. He looked up and Castiel lost all reluctance the moment their eyes locked and Dean’s face cleared. Dean stood slowly. Two men standing in a park in the dead of night, drenched to the bone – the image was quite poetic.

“Cas,” Dean said weakly, shifting from foot to foot. Castiel smiled and tilted his head.

“Dean.”

There was a beat of silence, and Castiel knew they had passed the point of no return. They were too close to each other, too wrapped in this odd bubble of intimacy that had been there since the very first night.

“Look,” Dean began. “I’m not sure if I’m reading this right. I – actually, I wanted to…”

Castiel felt elated. He listened to Dean’s fractured rambling and wanted to close his eyes and pull him in, to press their bodies together until they felt like one.

“Dean –”

“I’m really hopin’ I’m not messing this up,” Dean was saying, dead set on finishing his sentence. “But I’m not the only one that feels it, right? I’m not imagining things, right, Cas?”

Castiel kissed him.

He didn’t think about it, not really. Dean’s mouth was warm and his face soaking wet when Castiel’s hands came up to frame it. Dean made a muffled sound of surprise, and Castiel didn’t have time to worry before Dean was tugging him in and kissing back fiercely, like it was everything he’d ever wanted.

Theirs was a nighttime story, borne of chance and restlessness. It had settled in quietly, with a welcome inevitability. It was one of these unimportant love stories, the kind that don’t appear in films, the kind no one writes books about.  Castiel wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He smiled against Dean’s lips, giddy with joy.

Theirs was a nighttime story, but it wouldn’t take much for it to become more than that.

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Sapphirestiel on Tumbr :)


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